Chapter Seventy-Nine: What Stayed and What Still Lingers

The moon hung high now—silver, still, unapologetically bright.

Chloe stood at the edge of the balcony, arms gently folded across her chest, the breeze tugging at the ends of her blouse. The waves hummed below in soft, steady rhythm.

Kian sat behind her, swirling his wine in the glass as if the motion kept his hands from betraying anything more than he was willing to say aloud.

Neither of them spoke at first.

There was no need.

The silence wasn't silence anymore.

It was something closer to memory—a soft return to what was once theirs.

Eventually, Chloe turned toward the balcony door, glancing inside.

And that's when she stilled.

The room glowed warmly beneath golden sconces, casting light across the far wall.

Her breath caught.

Framed photos lined the space like curated art.

Their photos.

Not stored in a box. Not kept in a drawer.

But on display.

Preserved.

Held like they were still living.

She stepped closer to the glass, fingers pressing gently against it, eyes scanning each frame.

One of her laughing, barefoot, sand tangled in her curls, throwing water at him.

One of Kian, shirt halfway off, chasing her down the shore.

One of them tangled in a hammock, asleep.

Moments once ordinary—now sacred.

Kian's voice broke gently through the space behind her.

"I never took them down."

She looked over her shoulder, voice low.

"Why?"

He took a slow sip of his wine before answering.

"Because even after you left... those moments still existed. They were still real to me. That didn't change just because everything else did."

Chloe said nothing, but her gaze softened, lingering a heartbeat longer on one of the photos—her head on his chest, his hand on her back, the two of them entirely content in each other's quiet.

She stepped back outside and took her seat beside him on the balcony.

They sat for a while. Side by side. The wind between them.

Until Kian asked it.

Finally.

"Why did you leave without asking me to come with you?"

Chloe didn't move.

Didn't breathe for a second.

Because there it was—the question he'd been holding for six years.

Not angry.

Not demanding.

Just… needing to know.

The wine glass trembled slightly between her fingers.

Because she didn't have a prepared answer.

Not anymore.

Not now.

She turned her head, met his gaze.

And for once, she wasn't sure where to begin.